Run
by Soncnica
Summary: Sam's a fast runner, Dean's a great shooter. And Sam has to trust that. Also, Dean's plans stink.


**Ok, hear me out here, guys:**

**I'm still struggling with writers block, and yeah, I know what you might think: "But how can you have writers block, when you're actually writing?" yeah, well… read this and tell me then that I don't have it! LOL**

**And I just wanna say that not every hunt story has to have pain in it to make it a story, ya know!? LOL I'm not ready yet to hurt the boys **_sigh _**I wanna, oh God do I wanna make them bleed and sweat and scream and twist in pain, but I'm not ready to do that yet. And I hate myself because of that, but I just don't think that I'm capable of writing something like that yet. **

**So yeah… this is another attempt at kicking the writers block's ass. **

**I own nothing but the grammar/spelling mistakes are all mine. **

**Enjoy…**

Sam waited; shifting from foot to foot, preparing to do his job even though he really didn't like this.

In silence; making no sounds. Only the faraway bark of a deer and rustling of the leaves were his companions while he stood there, between two spruce trees trying really hard not to lean on one of them.

In the dark. Under the summer sky littered with flickering stars, in the warm wind that send some dry needles from the branches to rest on his shoulder.

He waited, holding his breath, willing his heart to beat slower and quieter. He wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans, breathed in and listened.

A mosquito flew by his ear, making him jump, making him realize that any noise apart from the noise that he's waiting for means sure death before he could even realize what was going on.

"_We gotta kill it while it's chasing its food."_

"_Okay. How?"_

_Dean grinned. _

He should've known right there and then that Dean grinning like that… was so not a good thing.

-:-

His neck was sweaty; itching.

The knife in his right hand was heavy but the weight was so familiar, it felt as if he was holding nothing at all. But this nothing could kill ya with just a nick at the right place.

The knife's handle was wooden and it fit his big palm perfectly, not slipping from his tight grip.

A soft breeze ruffled the hair at the back of his neck and a low whistle reached his ears.

It was time.

He twirled the knife in his hand once, twice, three times, pressed it to his left forearm and sliced. The blade made an icy cold tingle flow up his arm and the red blood that started to run freely sparkled under the moonlight. He didn't hiss or flinch, he didn't make a sound. It didn't hurt… the pain was nothing compared to what he was used to.

"Come get me, you son of a bitch."

He whispered into the air, dropped the knife on the floor and started to run when the leaves rustled in a wrong kind of way.

-:-

The moon was split in two; one part glowing bright yellow, the other part pitch black.

Two sets of feet that were snapping little twigs and branches in two were moving fast; running, stumbling, but never faltering in speed.

An owl made some noise from somewhere near; someone's gonna die tonight and if Sam will have his way, it ain't gonna be him.

The night sucked in all the heat of the day, leaving the forest cold and damp.

His gray T-shirt was clinging to his chest and he could feel little drops of already forming dew stick to his skin and hair. He would shiver, if he wasn't busy running and breathing at the same time.

The burn in his legs, the pull of his muscles, the shortness of breath, the pain in his sides… but he mustn't stop running. Stop running and die.

Branches that were hitting his face and arms were like whips; the pain quick, sharp and hot. One nicked his left cheek, blood spilling out, tickling down his skin, but it stopped soon, the wind freezing it in its track.

He couldn't see anything, but… it was like instinct telling him where to go, left or right, duck, roll, get up, get down, go faster, faster, faster.

He could hear his own breath move quickly out of his mouth, felt his hair flop around his ears, hitting his damp cheeks.

"Down!!"

He saw his brother standing next to a tree, Dean's gun pointed directly at his chest and when the words reached him on a fast blowing wind that was surely bringing a storm their way… he dropped down, his chest hitting the hard floor, hands clutching at some fern leaves, face hitting rotting leaves that made their way into his mouth when he breathed in and out so fast, he thought his chest was gonna explode.

The shot made him flinch. It was too sudden, too close and too loud… and it just saved his life.

Some birds flew off some nearby trees, making sounds like crying.

Something heavy hit the floor near his feet, mere inches away from the tip of his boots.

He unclenched the fern leaves and turned around, eyes going straight for the moon, before it was obscured by his big brother's idiotic grin.

"You okay?"

Sam groaned and tried to slow down his breathing. He felt like he was gonna have a stroke if he wasn't gonna slow down, calm down.

"Am- amazing."

Dean spread his arms wide, like inviting the night to come and hug him, laughed: "We got it." and tried to ignore his little brother's groan.

Sam closed his eyes and rolled to his right side, hitting his nose on a moss covered rock: "Mhm…"

He couldn't talk, the adrenaline running through his veins the only thing keeping him from offing his brother right there and then.

A strong hand grabbed his shoulder and he had no other choice then to follow its lead and get up from the floor to stand on shaky feet.

"Get off me."

Dean let go of Sam's arm: "Touchy."

Sam bent at the waist, put his hands on each thigh and breathed in, slowly coming down for the high of being chased.

"Well excuse me," he rose up, took the offered white shirt from Dean, "I just got chased by that," pointed to the pile of dead fur, "through half of the forest," and put his hands through the long sleeves, "while bleeding, so… 'm sorry for…"

"… acting like a chick?" Dean placed his hand on Sam's shaky shoulder: "Yeah, I understand."

"Shut up."

Sam pulled up the shirt's left sleeve and started to wrap a bandana over the bleeding slice on his arm, mumbling: "Hate your plans."

"Hey, it worked."

"Doesn't mean it was great."

"Hey, my plan saved this town."

"Me running and bleeding saved this town."

"Me shooting it dead saved this town."

"Yeah, well whatever it was, the town ain't never gonna know who saved them."

"Yeah… perks of the job, huh?"

Sam noted the sarcasm in Dean's words, while pressing more firmly over the wound and hissing. Just because.

"Hey, I wouldn't have suggested it if I'd think that you couldn't handle it, alright? You're a faster runner then me and I'm a better shooter then you."

Sam stared at the lifeless body of the creature, trying to figure out why it was so deadly… because right now, it looked like it couldn't hurt a fly.

The set of milky white, long and sharp teeth that were peering out of its mouth gave him the answer. The creature loved blood, loved the smell of it, loved the taste of it… but running wasn't its strongest point and Sam could see why. The thing's feet were short and kinda fat. Heh.

"Yeah… yeah, I know."

And Sam knew. He did. He knew that Dean would never do anything that would put Sam's life in danger. But that doesn't mean that the plan was awesome. He ain't gonna pat Dean on his back for this one.

"Okay, come on. We gotta burn it."

-:-

The gray smoke rising up to the sky covered the stars.

"Stinks."

"Your plans stink, man. This… this is like perfume compared to your plans."

"'m hurt."

"Shut up."

The flames were slowly dying out, the creature just ash lying on the ground waiting to be carried away by the wind.

"Okay, let's go get us some burgers."

"Those burgers are why you're such a slow runner, ya know?"

"Leave a man some pleasure, wouldya!"

**The End. **


End file.
